Voice gone cold

Setting in the winter atmosphere,

Like a masterwork

Is a painted, sloshing sky

Pink clouds smashed into the dewy atomic sun

Cold evening dusk.

If you leave to scattered fall,

A new dream inside your world begins,

Sprinkles of orange yellow roses and perfect green candied buds,

With a ethereal angel whispering through the painted skyline, “You won’t be cold anymore, not ever with me.”

If you must go, know I am here with you

Always.

My blood red call will sink into

Catacombs of cold,

Voice run dry(only for that dark raven that bids my time at every moment)

I’ll be penning in terrifying eternity, a beautiful wasteland

As I could never ask Jane to stay in this purgatory I created for myself(as I will keep attempting to escape the mad raven), this raging, timeless hell—

She deserves better, as I, Edward could never give her such bliss

As more than a sloshing, pink painted sky.